


Adrenaline Rush

by subjunctive



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: marvel-cinekink, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their overnight stay in a safe house, Steve needs something to help him relax. Natasha helps him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrenaline Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [a prompt](http://marvel-cinekink.livejournal.com/751.html?thread=23535#t23535) at [marvel-cinekink](http://marvel-cinekink.livejournal.com) that asked for "Steve needs to relax, and Natasha is willing and happy to help with that. Some fingering would be nice as well, but that's optional." No fingering here, but I will write that someday. \o/
> 
>  ~~Cleaned up and edited from the original.~~ Just realized that the version I posted had been updated but had not included the expansions I made later. It's been edited now to reflect those. Hopefully you find it more hot rather than less...

Natasha flipped the light switch on as soon as they entered the apartment, flooding it with light, but even so, something about the place seemed to have perpetually dark corners. Her instincts kicked in, and she began searching for bugs and any sign that someone else had been here.

"Your place?" asked Steve, looking around. His oversized gym bag - stuffed with his outfit and shield - was clutched in one hand like a lifeline. Natasha held up a finger to her lips and gave a _hmm_ of assent, running her fingers under the kitchen countertop, and thought about going for the cabinets later, where there should be non-perishables. While she was internally debating the merits of pancakes for dinner, she heard Steve drop his bag at the foot of the couch. But he didn't sit down himself.

Once she'd checked all the obvious, and non-obvious, places and satisfied herself that they hadn't been compromised, Natasha reached for the pantry door and said over her shoulder, "We're good, Steve."

Despite her reassurance, he seemed antsy still, which in turn made _her_ feel antsy. He still hadn't sat down. "You sure this place is safe?"

She turned around, arms crossed, and gave him an eyebrow. "SHIELD didn't know about it, so no one does. Did you think I'd bring you someplace compromised?"

He looked sheepish at her response, though his eyes were still dark with - something. "Of course not."

"I didn't think so." She gave him a small smile. "What do you want for dinner? There's just boxes and cans, of course. Baked beans, pancakes, pickles..."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets and bobbing on his heels a little, Steve seemed to come perilously close to pacing, which Natasha would not stand for. It had been a long day. "It's not exactly gourmet, I know, but..."

His head jerked up in surprise. "Oh - I'm not hungry." He seemed slightly apologetic about it.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Busy day," she said conversationally. "Still running on adrenaline, maybe?" She had noticed, though of course not remarked on, the post-combat bulge he had been sporting on the way over here. Not unusual, in her experience, although she thought the size of it might be.

"Mmm. Yeah. Ever since the serum, it takes a while to... calm down." He ran a hand through his hair, squeezed and pulled at it in a way that made something in Natasha stand up and pay attention.

She set the box of pancake batter down and made her way over to him, perching on the arm of the couch. She tapped the cushion with one foot, and he took the hint, sitting down next to her. The couch, old and threadbare, sagged under his weight.

His jaw worked for a few moments before he spoke. "We're so close," he said finally. "I can feel it. I just -" He fell silent again, seemingly lost in thought.

"This is a good lead," murmured Natasha, leaning with her elbows on her knees. "I know you're nervous."

He gave a short laugh, shoulders tensing up. "Nervous," he repeated disbelievingly. "If you'd told me I had a shot at having my best friend back... didn't think I would be nervous." One of his knees jogged up and down, and he rubbed his face with both hands. For a moment, Natasha wished Wilson was with them just then - he would know what to say to lighten the mood, to make Steve laugh. Some quip or pop culture reference. Not her forte.

"You should find a way to relax," she said quietly instead, nudging him with her toe. "You were in the military, you saw war. What did you and the other soldiers do after combat? To... calm down?"

For a moment, there was silence. "Uh... Nothing fit to talk about." He was flushing now, the tips of his ears pink, and unable to meet her eyes.

"Probably the same thing spies do?" she suggested gently, prompting him to look up at her with surprise.

"Oh - really?" His voice pitched slightly on the second word. The tapping had stilled. "Don't tell me you're... Wait, are you offering?" Under the incredulity, Natasha sensed an undercurrent of... if not desire, then openness. He leaned forward, khakis bunching and pulling around his thighs. His flush was spreading, she noted.

She propped her chin on one fist and looked down at him, her expression serious. "I could be. Are you interested?"

During their conversation, she had noticed that he hadn't lost his arousal, though she made sure not to let him catch her looking. Seemingly unconsciously, Steve's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You don't have to..." He sounded hesitant.

It wasn't a no. "I need you at your best, Rogers," she said lightly. "Will this help do that?"

Steve took two more breaths, reluctant but, in the end, determined - just as she knew he would be. "... Yeah."

"Good." Bracing herself against his thigh with one hand, Natasha slipped off the couch to her knees in front of him. She heard Steve suck in a breath of surprise above her and hid her smile from him. She enjoyed teasing him, surprising him; maybe too much. Slowly, in case he changed his mind, she leaned forward to press her lips against the the seam of his pants, sucking lightly through the rough fabric.

"Ah -!" His hips jerked up involuntarily; he seemed to realize it almost immediately and ground his hips down into the couch deliberately. Natasha found it, oddly, endearing.

"Something's in the way," she said lightly. He huffed a laugh, almost more of an explosive breath, and she took that as her cue to continue, reaching to undo the button on his pants and slide the zipper down slowly. Without prompting he slid forward to the edge of the cushion, giving her a better angle, and she murmured her approval. As she listened to his harsh breathing, together they managed to get his pants around his knees, and - hesitating only for a moment to make sure he was good to keep going - she pulled down the elastic waistband of his briefs, letting his cock spring free.

Her earlier assessment had been right, she noted approvingly; he wasn't unusually long, but beautifully thick and solid. She let herself imagine for a moment what it would be like to feel that girth inside her, stretching and filling her, and let slip a sigh. But this wasn't about her, she reminded herself. (Maybe another time.) Instead, she wrapped her fingers around him in a loose fist, jerking him a few times to get a feel for the sensitive spots. This time he bit back his reaction so that it was just a guttural sound in the back of his throat, and where her arms were resting on his thighs she could feel the tension as he didn't let himself thrust forward the way he obviously wanted to.

All that control and propriety: Natasha wondered what it would be like to see him lose it.

Determined to see just that, she rubbed her thumb just under the darkened head, listening for a hitch in his breath, and when she heard it felt a curl of pleasure and satisfaction. Ducking her head and letting him slide against her palm, she pressed open-mouthed kisses against the underside of his length.

His breathing grew ragged. "Natasha - you're teasing -"

"Mmhmm." She dragged out the sound so that she could feel it vibrate into his skin, and felt more than heard his head fall back against the couch. Just before she reached the head of his cock, she slid back down - rewarded with his impatient groan - and let her tongue drag roughly against him from root to tip, leaving behind an obscene wet stripe. He tasted good, like sweat and salt and maleness.

His hands fisted in the upholstery; she could hear the old fabric strain under his fingertips. "Please -" he gasped.

Finally, she decided to take mercy - such as it was - on him, letting the head of his cock slide between her lips and sucking lightly. Above her he made a surprised sound, almost a whimper, and Natasha's heart began to beat faster, pleased. As her tongue probed at his slit, she found a drop of salty pre-come and swiped it away.

As she bent to get to work in earnest, her hair fell forward and into her face. But before she could reach up to take care of it, she felt Steve's fingers pushing it back over her ear, with only the smallest tremble in his wrist. His fingers flexed against open air like he wanted to grab her head, but apparently he decided against it, because the hand fell back to his side. If she could've smiled at him, she would have. If she could have spoken, she would have teased him with something like _What a gentleman._ Instead, she reached with her free hand to squeeze his hip encouragingly.

Natasha stroked him with one hand, in short quick movements using her own saliva to slick the way, and sealed her lips around him, sucking hard. He seemed to fill her mouth, firm and solid, and her jaw was beginning to ache with the effort of being so open. But she could almost taste his pulse, the blood running hot just under his skin. 

She glanced up at him: his face was flushed pink, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his bottom lip was nearly bitten through. He looked like a wreck, at least compared to his usual look, and _yes that's it_ , she thought. On the tail end of every exhale his breath slid into a moan. A tiny sound, probably unconscious, and it made her all the more eager. She could feel her own body answering him, her short, quick breaths between swallows and the pounding of her blood between her ears.

Natasha let her bottom teeth graze him just slightly, and that was it for him. He thrust a few times into her mouth with a loud groan - too loud, but she liked the low sound, the rumble she could almost feel - but she let him, taking him in as much as she could as he finished, the head of his cock bumping the back of her mouth.

She let Steve collect himself for a minute, getting up to spit in the sink and rinse her mouth. Gradually she heard him reclothe himself and his breathing calm, and she returned to the couch, curling her legs under her.

"Sorry about the -"

At his words, she smiled and shook her head. "It's not a problem."

"Do you want me to -?" he pressed on, gesturing the idea of 'quid pro quo' pretty clearly. He looked embarrassed again, but this time it wasn't undercut by distraction and anxiety. He seemed steadier, somehow. Mission accomplished.

She considered it. "Honestly, right now I'm more hungry than horny."

He chuckled, although he still looked embarrassed. "I guess I'm on dinner duty."

She nudged him with her foot again, trying to let him know that everything was okay between them. "How do you feel about pancakes for dinner?"


End file.
